Unforgettable
by pantiara
Summary: "Raven," he whispered, "when... when did you become a woman?" The year is 1951. Charles returns home from his senior year at Harvard, and everything becomes complicated between Raven and Charles after a romantic encounter goes wrong. One-Shot.


Raven waited impatiently for Charles, bouncing a bit on her heels in front of the gate of the summer mansion. She stood at the end of a line of carefully arranged servants, all dressed in formal black-and-white; ties and suit coats, pantyhose and high heels, hair slicked back or in tidy buns. She ruined the perfect monotony, wearing a sleeveless, yellow, polka-dot sundress and worn out leather saddle shoes. Her bangs fell almost into her eyes. Strands of cornsilk blonde hair fell from her ponytail and into her face whenever the wind changed direction.

Charles's mother Sharon paced in front of them, gazing expectantly down the long gravel drive. She wore a sharp, grey suit dress with oversized buttons that was cinched fiercely at the waist, to force an hourglass out of her gaunt figure.

Raven scratched the back of her naked calf with her shoe. They'd been waiting for several minutes on Charles's arrival from his senior year at Harvard, and the chiggers and young June mosquitoes were out in full force, nibbling on her flesh.

"Are you sure he's coming?" she asked Sharon.

"Of course he is," Sharon replied, barely glancing behind her. Her crisp British accent made Raven's teenage American one sound dull and slurred in comparison. "He told me. You know, through his... thing... that he does."

Sharon made a face, signaling her distaste for her son's extraordinary gift of telepathy. Raven hated how she tiptoed around his power, only speaking of it in private to hired help or close family, with sideways glances to make sure no one else was listening. Of course, Raven knew her own power was much more horrifying to Sharon, and she would never even mention it to anyone that hadn't witnessed it firsthand.

Finally, the sound of crunching gravel echoed through the New York countryside. Raven brushed her hair behind her ears and smoothed out the pleats of her cotton dress. She could barely hold in her excitement. She'd been waiting for him to come home for the summer for what felt like entire decades.

"Mind your eyes, girl," scolded Gerald, the Xavier's butler, standing next to her in line.

She'd heard that enough to know exactly what it meant. In her excitement, she'd lost track of her disguise. She willed her eyes to turn from bright yellow back to a more normal blue color before Sharon could notice as well.

Clouds of dust followed the big, yellow taxicab as it pulled up in front of the Xavier estate. The door opened and Charles stepped out, a small, thin, freckled young man of only 18. He squinted at the sunlight and ran a hand through his brown hair, smiling at all the familiar faces in front of him.

Raven couldn't keep still any longer. Before Sharon could say a word, Raven broke the line and rushed towards him, flinging her arms around him and knocking him back against the taxi.

"Raven!" he exclaimed, laughing at his adopted sister's exuberance.

"Did you get even scrawnier?" she joked, pinching his cheek hard. He cringed and swatted her hand away.

"Stop!" he whined. She, of course, proceeded to pinch his other cheek. He held both of her wrists in one hand. "I knew you missed torturing me," he said with a playful look of warning.

Sharon coughed conspicuously and nearly glared at Raven.

Getting the hint, Raven backed off and stood to the side. "Crybaby," she whispered.

Sharon smiled as warmly as her sharp features would allow and strode gracefully towards her son. She held out her arms to him.

"Darling," she cooed as they hugged each other. She gave him a light peck on each cheek and put a hand dramatically on her chest.

"I can't believe it. _My_ son, one of the youngest Harvard graduates in history."

"Oh, please, Mother." Charles rolled his eyes. "You've been waiting to brag about that for years."

"Well of course I have!" she exclaimed. "But that doesn't mean I still can't believe it." Her face softened gradually and her grey eyes grew misty. "Your father would have been so very proud of you."

Charles nodded humbly. After a moment of reflection in the quiet summer sunshine, Sharon spun around with a brisk sigh and glibly addressed her servants.

"Well, what is everyone waiting for? Take his bags," she clapped her hands, "chop chop."

The driver popped the trunk, revealing several large suitcases and boxes stuffed to the brim. Each servant smiled politely as they passed, saying, "Welcome back," and took a parcel or two from the trunk.

Sharon unlocked the gigantic wrought-iron gate guarding the mansion and led everyone through. The party moved single file down the cement drive lined with immaculately trimmed hedges, towards the stately stone manor looming ahead. Raven hooked arms with Charles as they brought up the rear, like she used to do when they were young children.

"How've you been getting along without me?" he asked.

"I've never been more bored in my life," she replied in a sotto voice. "Sharon won't give me spending money for anything, so I've been stuck rotting at home."

"Maybe I can soften her up a bit," he replied, nudging her with his elbow.

"Oh, Charles!" Sharon's voice trilled from the front of the line. Both his and Raven's heads shot up, afraid that she'd overheard them. "I deigned to mention, there's a party in your honor tonight, 8 'o clock," she continued, "please make an effort to be present through the entire thing."

Raven's heart sank. A big, fancy party meant she was expected to hide upstairs until it was over, which wouldn't be until the wee hours of the morning. Barely any of Sharon's stinking-rich friends knew she existed, and Raven was sure she wanted to keep it that way.

She stared ahead of her, burning an imaginary hole through the back of Sharon's head as she planned her own little get-together.

 _What are you scheming, Birdy?_ Charles's telepathic voice echoed in her mind, using his favorite obnoxious childhood nickname for her. He surreptitiously placed his finger on his temple, pretending to scratch his head.

Even though they were communicating telepathically, Raven whispered to him in her mind.

 _Did you bring any grass? s_ he asked.

 _Tons_ , he replied, smiling mischievously.

She smiled back. Her hair swung back and forth as she put a little more spring in her step.

* * *

That night, Raven peeked down the winding staircase to the opulent Edwardian foyer below. The antique crystal chandelier was freshly dusted and lit for the party, and guests were starting to arrive. She saw the tops of the heads of an old couple enter through the front door, and Gerald taking their coats. His head nodded up and down with polite elegance.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hurston," his deep, black voice echoed throughout the foyer. He extended his arm towards the grand ballroom. "Right this way, if you please."

Raven narrowed her eyes and thought as she watched Gerald collect coats and herd guests. She'd snuck almost everything she needed into the wine cellar earlier in the day: the portable record player, her favorite albums, wine glasses, rolling papers, and a few saucer plates. It was easy while everyone was scurrying around preparing for the party. She'd simply disguised herself as one of the servants, cut through the kitchen, and went out to the cellar, fetching booze to chill for the guest's arrival.

The problem was, she'd waited too long, and she still needed to make one more stop in the kitchen to grab some _hors d'oeuvres_. Not to mention she had to pick up her guest of honor, Charles, who carried the real entertainment in a little bag in his pocket.

She had changed from her yellow sundress into a black satin gown, one of Sharon's old things she could no longer fill after losing too much weight. It was elegant, but it came down to the knees and had a collar. With a white apron it could easily look like an outfit much like the ones the waitresses wore.

Using her power, she disguised herself as a pale young woman with jet black hair and brown eyes. She snuck downstairs as Gerald was busy taking the mink coat of a fussy middle-aged woman.

Raven weaseled her way behind Gerald and walked briskly into the grand ballroom, feeling sorry for him in advance for having to take nit-picking orders from rich, drunken idiots all night.

As she glided across the brightly lit ballroom, her eyes scanned for Charles through the crowd of cocktail dresses and tuxedos. Guests flaunted their wealth with pearl necklaces, bejeweled earrings, diamond cufflinks, and gold watches. Waiters rushed around with silver platters full of alcohol and tiny delicacies held together with toothpicks.

She heard an ear piercing laugh from the corner of the room. Sharon stood chuckling over some inside joke with the Hurston couple, the champagne flute in her hand already empty.

She focused again on finding Charles, and saw him right away this time. He wore a tux, like every other man in the room, but the coat fit too loose around his small chest and waist, and the hem of his pants touched the floor. He stood in the middle of the room talking to an old man wearing horn rimmed glasses. She snuck closer, pretending to be invested in someone else's conversation while keeping a close eye on the two of them.

As soon as he left Charles alone, she slid up to him nonchalantly, like the mysterious _femme fatales_ she'd seen in so many spy movies.

"Hello, stranger," she said, trying out a lilting, breathy voice, completely alien from her own. "Do you come here often?"

Charles snorted with laughter, nearly spraying brandy out of his nose. "Oh my god, Raven," he chuckled.

She scowled in disappointment. "It wasn't supposed to be funny, you little ass!" she whispered in her natural voice, only half joking.

"'Little ass'? I'm older than you!" he exclaimed.

Raven shushed him, motioning towards Sharon as inconspicuously as she could.

Charles drank as he used his telepathy again. _I have the stuff, now where is the hideout, Birdy?_ he asked.

 _Meet me in the wine cellar in 15 minutes,_ she thought back at him, shoving a few chocolate covered pieces of fruit into her mouth from a passing waitress. He chuckled again, to her embarrassment.

He stopped laughing when she changed right in front of his eyes, in a room full of people, into a young woman with dark brown skin and tight, curly hair. She winked at him as she took off towards the kitchen.

He felt a sting of disbelief and anger telepathically radiating from the corner of the room, above the drone of the mundane inner dialogue of all the other guests. He looked in that direction to see his mother, eyes wide and staring directly at him.

"Oh shit," he said, not caring that she could clearly see him mouth the words.

Before he could make his mother forget what she'd just seen, she stormed towards the kitchen, and he lost her in the crowd of thoughts.

* * *

As Raven walked into the bustling kitchen, she grabbed a white apron from a hook near the door and sloppily tied it behind her back. She knew she'd transformed at just the right moment, when Sharon was distracted by the Hurstons and everyone else was facing away from her. Dick Tracy couldn't have done better.

A dozen waiters and waitresses hurried in and out of the swinging doors, unloading empty glasses to the dishwashers and picking up full ones laid out in advance. Others filled their empty platters with more _hors d'oeuvres_ prepared by the sweating sous chefs.

Phyllis, the Xavier's head chef, was a tall, black woman with a permanent scowl. She stood over the proceedings, barking orders like a general.

"Don't overuse the mayonnaise in that dip, Sam," she told one of the chefs, "we're about to run out. You can make two more batches if you're careful." She turned her attention to one of the waitresses as Raven slipped past her. "Jessie!" she yelled at the poor girl. "Your hair is falling down, pin it back up right now, you look a mess!"

Raven scanned the cutting tables for any food she could easily slip into her pocket without anyone noticing. A box of saltines? No, too bulky. Her eyes fell on a stack of unopened sardine cans. She shuddered. Definitely not.

Just then, Gerald walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the sink, dried it, and filled it with cold water.

"What are you doing in here?" asked Phyllis, crossing the room, "aren't you supposed to be in the foyer?"

"Eduardo is covering me," he said, after taking a long sip, "and you ain't my boss," he added under his breath, draining the glass.

As they talked, a purple, uncut round of expensive merlot cheddar cheese caught Raven's attention; her absolute favorite. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the chefs light the gas stovetop with a match, and a realization hit her like a sack of bricks.

 _Matches._ She'd forgotten the matches. What good was a reefer without something to light it with?

Forgetting about the cheese for the moment, she made her way to one of the kitchen drawers. Glancing around to make sure Phyllis was looking at Gerald and not her, she opened it and began rifling around. She found a tiny book of matches and slipped it deftly into her pocket.

"Girl!" Phyllis's booming voice came from behind her, making her jump a foot in the air. She turned around to face her. Phyllis's sinewy arms were crossed over her broad chest.

"What's your name?" she asked as her eyes narrowed.

She paused before answering, "Vivian, Ma'am."

"I don't remember any Vivian working here," said Phyllis, her voice dangerously low.

"It's my first night, Ma'am."

She gave the disguised Raven a sideways glance. "What are those matches for, huh?"

Raven swallowed hard. "One of the guests asked for a light for his cigarette... Ma'am," she added quickly.

Phyllis continued to stare, unphased. She slowly walked up to the girl without breaking eye contact. Gerald watched her too, sensing Phyllis's suspicion. Raven felt the butterflies in her stomach rise into her throat. She blinked, and instantly knew it was a mistake. Although she couldn't feel her own eyes change color, the look on Phyllis's face said it all.

"Raven!" she yelled, making everyone in the kitchen pause and stare.

She sighed, and let her entire disguise slip into her natural form. Her smooth, brown skin turned a textured, almost scaly blue color, her hair went from black and curly to red and straight, slicked back against her scalp, and her eyes remained bright yellow. She was in for it now, no point in hiding.

Phyllis wagged her finger at her and got two inches from her face. "You know you aren't supposed to be down here! And stealing? If you really were black, girl, you'd be out on the street with only the clothes on your back, you know that, right?"

"I was going to put them right back, and I live here, anyway," said Raven, a lump forming in her throat. She inched her way towards the cheese, thinking she could grab it quickly and run.

"You live here? You mean Sharon _lets_ you live here. Hell, _I_ practically live here, and if I'd have done it, it'd be stealing," she said. "Sneaking around the house like a weasel! If you weren't Charles's little playmate, you wouldn't be living nowhere!"

Raven stopped. The lump in her throat grew, and she began to sob involuntarily. Tears flowed like a salty river down her face as everyone in the kitchen stared at her. She hated it. She hated herself for looking like a freak and crying like a baby, she hated everyone who wouldn't stop looking at her, and most of all, she hated Phyllis for telling the truth.

Gerald stared daggers at Phyllis and put his glass down loudly on the granite table. She glared back at him, then glanced at everyone else.

She shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said, to no one in particular.

"Phyllis, the only reason you can talk to her that way is because that boy is all she's got," said Gerald.

Finally, Phyllis's expression softened a bit. She let out a sharp sigh.

"I'm sorry, Raven," she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "This world is cruel as hell to people it don't like. Better to learn it from me than from someone who's got the sticks and stones."

Suddenly, the swinging doors flew open. Sharon stormed in and made a beeline for Raven.

"Speak of the devil," muttered Phyllis.

Raven quickly dried her tears and steeled herself as Sharon strode up to her. Her face was already turning red with anger, and probably a fair amount of alcohol.

"What in Christ's name do you think you're doing?" she asked, enunciating each syllable with pointed hatred. "Did you think I wouldn't notice your little chameleon trick? Did you? What if someone else had seen, hmm? They would have called the police, it would have been a scandal! You can't-"

She stopped mid-sentence, open-mouthed, and looked down at Raven's gown. "That's... my... _dress_ ," she hissed.

Raven couldn't move. She felt like she might faint or vomit at any moment, or quite possibly both at the same time.

Sharon shook her head and sputtered, "You horrid little- the nerve! I've been nothing but a saint to you and you do nothing but disobey me, and act like an imbecile, and steal my clothes! What the hell do you have to say for yourself?!"

All of a sudden, Raven's fear and nausea dissipated, replaced with calm defiance. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly reached for the merlot cheddar wheel on the table, picked it up, and took a huge bite.

You could have heard a pin drop in the room but for the tiniest snicker from one of the chefs. Even Phyllis looked stunned.

Raven continued to chew as furious, strangled noises came out of Sharon's mouth. She tilted her head, and her face somehow grew an even brighter shade of red.

She let out a frustrated scream. She looked around at her hired help, flinging her arms in the air. "Will one of you punish her?!" she commanded. She continued to babble and gesticulate as she marched out of the kitchen, "I absolutely cannot deal with this right now! This is utterly ridiculous! I can't do it!"

Everyone turned their rapt attention back to Raven. She sheepishly glanced up into Phyllis's stone-cold gaze and swallowed the cheese, her nausea returning.

Phyllis reached down and slowly took the wheel from her. Raven held her breath, waiting for a tidal wave of wrath to come down on her head.

Instead, without the slightest change in her expression, she also took an enormous bite of cheese.

Gerald began to chuckle first, low and rich, followed steadily by everyone else in the kitchen. The laughter rang out like a song around them, melting away all the tension in the room. Finally, Phyllis cracked a smile too, her bright, cackling laughter like a breath of fresh air.

"Here you go," she chuckled, giving the cheese back to her. "Damn, you get so much shit from Sharon, you don't need any more from me." She put her finger in the air, motioning for her to wait, then opened the fridge and pulled out another block of cheese. "You like Havarti with dill?" she asked.

"Yes," she said, still slightly in shock.

Phyllis put the Havarti in her other hand. "Now, don't you tell anybody I gave you that, or I really will whoop your ass," she said.

Raven hurried out the back door while the kitchen resumed its normal flurry of activity.

* * *

Raven shivered in the night air as she waited for Charles under an oak tree near the wine cellar. For June, it was unusually cold, but she didn't mind. She wore her white-skinned, blonde-haired disguise, just in case someone happened to drunkenly wander into the yard and see her.

She didn't feel like waiting in the cellar for him. She'd felt so cramped and stifled all day, even in such a big house, that being able to look at the night sky felt like a little piece of heaven. She breathed deeply of the frigid air, listening to the slow chirp of crickets and the distant murmur of the party going on without her. Feeling safe, she slowly, luxuriously, slipped her small sleeves off her shoulders, pulling the front of her black dress down to expose her breasts. She gasped a little at a sudden chilly breeze, but then relaxed. It was like dunking yourself in water to adjust to the temperature; as soon as she was half naked, it didn't really feel so cold anymore.

For a fleeting instant, she wondered what Charles's face would look like if she took off all her clothes and greeted him completely nude. It was how she looked when they first met. Perhaps he wouldn't be surprised at all. She giggled stupidly at herself and pushed the thought away.

Thinking of him made her start to worry. Sharon was probably keeping an extra close eye on Charles now, too, forcing him to stay at the party. Almost 30 minutes had already passed. What if he never came?

Suddenly, she heard footsteps running through the grass. Frantically slipping her arms back through her sleeves, she peeked around the tree to see Charles rushing up to the wine cellar.

"Finally," she whispered, "I was afraid Sharon had locked you in your room."

"She knew you were up to something that probably involved me, Raven," he said, panting as he reached the door. "You must try to be a little less conspicuous."

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "Inconspicuous is my middle name. Raven Inconspicuous Darkholme."

"Raven Cheese-Eating Darkholme, more like," he chuckled.

She crossed her arms and made a raspberry at him.

He laughed at her and coughed, his lungs sore from running. "Don't worry, I erased all that stuff from her mind, once I got the chance. Not like the alcohol wouldn't have done that, anyway," he added wryly. He suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable and pointed at her shoulder. "Your sleeve... it's a little..."

She lifted her sleeve firmly back onto her shoulder and opened the cellar door, revealing a ladder that led straight down into the ground.

"Wimps first," she said, gracefully motioning for him to enter.

"Shut up," he muttered, and began his descent into the cellar.

* * *

Raven groped around in the pitch dark, stubbing her toe on the record player, until she found the little string hanging in the middle of the room. She pulled it and with a click, the cellar was illuminated by a single bare bulb.

Diamond-shaped racks of wine and other alcohol lined the brick walls of the surprisingly cozy room. It smelled faintly of yeast and dirt, and it was slightly damp, but not nearly as cold as it was outside. Raven had already laid out everything for them; the record player was open, the dishes and glasses were arranged on the floor on top of a blanket like a little picnic, with the two huge chunks of cheese on each plate. Another plate held the rolling papers and matches.

Charles took the plastic sandwich bag full of marijuana out of his pocket. "You pour, and I roll," he said with a grin.

Raven put on a Rosemary Clooney record and danced around to "Come On-A My House" as she searched the racks. Charles sat on the floor and expertly rolled a giant reefer. The skunky stench filled the room even before he'd lit it.

She grabbed a green bottle of champagne and pulled out the stopper, sending a spray of booze all over the floor. She yelped and laughed.

"Careful!" Charles yelled, protecting the weed with his hand. "You'll get it wet!"

She ignored him, pouring him a glass of champagne from the still dripping bottle. She gave him a mischievous look as she proceeded to drink directly from it. Charles stared, mouth agape as she took gulp after gulp, like it was a bottle of soda pop.

"You are the most uncouth, uncivilized, unladylike female I've ever seen in my life," he said, shaking his head, equally aghast and amazed.

She finally stopped to take a breath. "The bubbles tickle my nose," she said in her most innocent voice, then let out a deafening belch.

They both doubled over with uncontrollable laughter, Raven sinking to the floor and literally rolling on the ground.

Charles held up the joint and gasped, "We haven't even smoked this yet!"

"It's _reefer madness_!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with pantomimed terror.

"Eat some cheese before you get sick, you crazy thing," said Charles as he lit up. He took a small toke, pinching the joint between his fingers, then held it out to her.

She did the same, holding the smoke in for as long as she could. She sat up as she let it out through her mouth and asked, "So, what are college girls like?"

He broke off a bit of Havarti and chewed thoughtfully. "They're like most other girls, I suppose. Petty, flaky, shallow."

She gave an indignant snort and tossed the champagne cork at his head.

"I said most girls," he backtracked, throwing the cork back at her, "I didn't mean you." He took the joint from Raven and inhaled again, then laid it down on the saucer. "If you were a boy, I'd be regaling you with stories of all the notches I put on my bedpost, but I'd be lying."

"Don't tell me you haven't... you know... the whole time you were at Harvard?" she asked.

"Not for lack of trying," he explained. "The girls in my class were too old for me. One of them even laughed at me when I asked her on a date. That's what graduating from high school 4 years early gets you." He leaned back against a rack of wine bottles.

"Were they pretty?" she asked, laying back down on the blanket. She could feel the effects of the champagne and marijuana working their way up to her head.

"Very," he answered, taking a long sip of champagne.

Raven broke off a hunk of cheddar and stuffed it in her mouth. She stared at him, staring into space, and wished she could read his mind as easily as he could read hers. They sat in silence for a few minutes as the last song ended. The arm of the record player clicked back into place.

"Charles?" she finally asked.

"Hmm?"

"What are we?"

Charles sat up straight and gave her a quizzical look. "What kind of a question is that?" he said. "We're people. I mean, we're some species of human, I guess..."

"That's not what I meant," she said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, you tell everyone that we're brother and sister, but that's not really true. We're not related, your parents never actually adopted me."

He looked around for another record to play, settling on Nat King Cole. "If you want to be technical about it, then I guess _I_ adopted you. Which means-"

"If you tell me you're my dad, I will leave and lock you down here for a week," she said.

"Okay, okay," he laughed. "Then... I guess you're like the girl next door who never went home."

Her heart sank even lower than it did when Phyllis had humiliated her. She got up and stood in the corner of the room, facing the wall.

"Raven?" Charles followed her as "Unforgettable" began to play through the tinny speakers.

He put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off violently and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "That was the wrong thing to say. This _is_ your home. You know that, don't you?"

She glanced at him, her eyes full of tears. "You're the only person who makes this place feel like home." She looked back at the wall, pushing her forehead into it. "When you're gone, it's just a big, fancy prison."

"It's your _home_ ," he repeated, and turned her by her shoulders so she faced him, "and I'm your brother."

"But I don't want you to be!" she blurted out, startling herself. She felt dizzy from the alcohol, from the weed, from the anger... and from something else confusing, disquieting, deep inside of her, squeezing her chest so hard she could barely breathe.

It didn't matter. Charles already knew what it was. He tilted his head as he looked at her from the ground up, as if he was seeing each part of her for the very first time. His eyes lingered on her hips, then her breasts, and finally her face. She felt the hand squeezing her heart disappear, replaced by a gentle throb between her thighs. She let all of her tension out with a deep breath.

Nat King Cole's velvety voice crooned through the record player as they stared into each others eyes.

"Raven," he whispered, "when... when did you become a woman?"

"Now," she said, and kissed him on the lips as the violins swelled.

All the fear, all the insecurity she'd been holding back her whole life simply evaporated into thin air. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to feel this way, but at that moment, nothing they could do together was wrong.

He kissed her deeply as he rubbed his cold hands up and down her burning thighs, eventually pulling down her panties and ever so gently sliding a finger inside of her.

She gasped, squeezing his finger with her muscles, feeling herself swell and get wet against his palm.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his mouth against her ear.

"No," she breathed into his collarbone.

He slid his finger slowly in and out and she moaned deeply. His other hand went to her sleeve, moving it down her arm and completely off of her body. She guided him towards her breast, squeezing his hand on top of her tit. Her legs began to tremble.

Sensing her weakness, Charles removed his hand from her thigh and moved her to the blanket. She laid down, removing her other sleeve, exposing both of her heaving breasts to him which he gladly fondled.

Her hands fumbled with his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. She reached into his briefs and tenderly grabbed his cock. He smiled with a little sigh and his eyes rolled back into his head. His dick throbbed with anticipation.

Only half aware of what she was doing, she let her disguise go, turning back into her blue skinned form. Charles's expression went from lustful, to slightly bewildered, to disappointed. His dick slowly went flaccid.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't... this isn't..." he stumbled over his words in confusion and dismay, "Raven, please change back."

She let go of his dick and scooted herself into a seated position. "Why?" she asked, her heart already breaking.

"Because I don't... just change back!" he blurted.

She sat, frozen, unable to move. He shook his head and got up, stumbling over the record player. The needle scratched loudly across the record and skipped to the first blaring brass notes of "Hajji Baba."

"I can't help it, all right?" he said as gently as he could manage through his frustration. He turned away from her. He zipped and rebuttoned his pants, stuffing himself back inside his underwear.

She felt her face go numb, followed by her chest and arms. Her heart crumbled into a million tiny, insignificant pieces. She wanted to scream, but her throat squeezed so tight she thought she would choke to death. A single gasping sob escaped her mouth, making Charles whirl around in surprise.

He looked down guiltily and held his hand out to hers. She slapped it away. Her sleeves still hanging off her arms, she ran to the ladder and climbed up as quickly as she could.

"Raven," he called after her, "wait!"

As she reached the top, she slammed the door shut and ran away into the night, sobbing and holding her dress up with one hand.

* * *

She lay crumpled in a heap against the edge of the fountain on the back lawn. She hid her face in her arms, her back heaving with sobs, still in her natural blue skin. If someone saw her now, she'd let them call the police, and the newspaper, and the government, she couldn't care less.

She heard Charles run up behind her. He only stood there, breathing heavily, shuffling his feet as though he didn't know what to say or do.

"The first time is supposed to be magic," she sniffled, her voice muffled behind her arms. "The first kiss, the first... everything... but I ruined it."

Charles stopped shuffling.

"I should have just stayed in disguise, and then..." she felt more tears rise to her face, "then you would have been able to love me." She began to sob helplessly again. She looked at her reflection in the water, her blue, scaly, inhuman face dripping salty tears, and had never hated herself more in her life.

She watched him through the reflection as he sat next to her on the fountain.

"It isn't your fault," he sighed, "it's mine. It's not fair. That shouldn't have to be your first time. I just can't... and I feel like an utter pig, but..." He leaned over and put his head in his hands. "God, Raven, how did everything get so complicated so fast?"

He looked at her with pity, tracing his fingers across her slicked-back hair. The underwater lights of the fountain basin illuminated her face with wavy, shifting shadows, making her yellow eyes glisten. "Can't we just go back to the way things were? When you were my sister? When we didn't feel this way?"

"How? I don't understand," she said, wiping her nose.

"You don't have to," he said tenderly. He sat down on the ground next to her, gently taking her head in his hands. She felt his telepathic power take hold of her mind, like someone cocooning her in a fresh, warm blanket. He held her gaze in his. She didn't resist. Her sobs subsided as waves of deep comfort enveloped her.

 _Forget,_ she heard his voice from inside her head. _Forget tonight. Forget what I said. Forget that I hurt you. Everything will be better, I promise._

"I love you, Raven," she saw him whisper gently, just as she was carried away to sleep by the sound of the trickling fountain.

* * *

Raven woke up against Charles's chest. She yawned groggily, inhaling a mouthful of his cologne. She must have fallen asleep next to him on the couch again, but why was it so damned cold? She gradually became aware of her surroundings; the fountain, the crickets, the party.

 _The party._ That was the last thing she remembered. She was getting things to put into the cellar. Is that why she was outside? And why was it so late?

She lifted her head and looked up at Charles, a confused look on her face.

"How did I get out here?" she asked him.

"You took a nap," he said, still holding her close to him, "and then you started sleepwalking, and you ended up outside."

She noticed her face was wet and puffy, and her nose was runny. "Was I crying?" she asked. "I don't remember crying."

He paused a moment, an odd look on his face, then rubbed her cold arm to warm her up, "It was only a nightmare, Birdy. You're all right."

"I know," she said. He continued to rub her arm gently, resting his head on top of hers. She quietly enjoyed his affection, snuggling her head back on his bony shoulder.

After a while, Charles shifted and sighed. "Let's go back in," he said, "it's freezing out here."

She stretched and allowed him to help her to her feet. Raven changed into her blonde disguise as they headed towards the house.

"Raven?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to Oxford for my Master's degree this fall, and I was wondering..." he stopped and looked at his feet, "do you want to come live with me?"

"You mean, in a flat, in London?" she asked. He nodded. She smiled and giggled, barely holding in her excitement. "That would be amazing! It would just be you and me, right, no roommates?"

"Oh, well, I was going to invite 7 or 8 people to stay with us," he joked.

"Right. Sure." She rolled her eyes. "Oh god, it'll be so great not to live under your mother's thumb anymore... no offense."

"None taken," he said.

She couldn't help noticing he was staring at her. His eyes were distant and gentle, like he was remembering something about her from a long time ago.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, smiling. "I'm just happy that you're happy, that's all." He hooked her arm around his and put his hand in his pocket as they walked back to the mansion.


End file.
